


The Last Ride

by Ty_Marri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Baby, End of the World, Gen, Goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ty_Marri/pseuds/Ty_Marri
Summary: In the end, the apocalypse still happened, leaving Dean Winchester with one last hail mary to save the world.
Kudos: 1





	The Last Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This started out from a prompt one of my fellow writers sent me, and of course I thought it was perfect fora Supernatural fanfic. This loosely incorporates elements of all fifteen seasons (minus of course the last seven because they haven't aired yet.) Hope you all enjoy!

In the end, the apocalypse still happened. Team Freewill felled one by one by the very monsters they spent a lifetime fighting, leaving Dean Winchester the last man standing.

Demons, werewolves, vampires, leviathans, ghouls, and every nasty thing that went bump in the night traversed against the rubble of human civilization, rooting out pockets of surviving humans to inflict the maximum damage. Their cries to the gods and God falling upon deaf ears. 

Many people, most of those who had been in some way affected by the supernatural previously, took to abandoned sewers, tunnels, and deep into the forest. They stayed far from caves where the wendigos would likely hide and cramped abandoned homes where vampire nests grew. Hunters from Apocolypse World found their way back to Dean and the bunker, often bringing back small groups of bedraggled people. They held hope that they would defeat those in this apocalypse, but Dean knew false hope when he saw it. 

This apocalypse was too similar to the Leviathan apocalypse ten years prior. While the players had changed, the result had much been the same. Dean, alone, leading a group of people who looked at him like the savior he wasn’t; Lucifer using Sam's body as a vessel; the world falling apart. 

The final day of the apocalypse found Dean leaning over the railing at the top of the bunker, idly clinking the ice in his whiskey glass as he watched the survivors prepare for another day of survival. 

Dean threw back the whiskey, enjoying the burn as it made it’s way down his throat. He didn’t taste anything other than the burn, hopeful that the whiskey would block the screams, and the memory of clutching Sam’s body to him as Castiel and Jack lost the fight behind him. 

Dean rubbed his face with his free hand, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He knew there was nothing left for him to do; nothing left to fight, except monsters that would keep coming back. He started down the stairs, nodding perfunctorily at the other hunters, smiling wanly at the other survivors scurrying around with their various tasks. He paused in front of a group of vacant-eyed children. Crouching low, so he was their height, he produced some candy bars for each of them. Their eyes widened, and they grabbed eagerly at the candy. Some stuffed the bars into jacket pockets while others eagerly shoved the bars into their mouths. They chittered their thanks to Dean through grubby and gummy mouths. 

Dean patted one of the kids on the head as he stood and continued to make his way through the others. He clapped Garth on the shoulder, making sure he had access to everything he needed for their base of operations. Garth gave an affirmative that Dean barely acknowledged as he continued to weave through the people on his way to the garage. Assured no one was watching him, he slipped through the door, sliding it shut quietly. The murmur of voices abruptly cut off, and for the first time in months, there was complete silence. 

Dean sauntered past the unused cars in the bay, finding Baby where he had left her after the church's battle, Sammy clutched to his side; Cas dripping grace from a mortal wound in the backseat. The love, safety, and home Baby brought quickly fading to another ghost he would be chase until he saw this apocalypse to the end. 

Her flayed left fender gaped at him, and he winced at the gouged scratches in the side covered in dried mud. Broken glass hung from the windows, followed by more scuffs and scratches. Her trunk hung ajar, only closing with a rope knotted to the inside. Dean had repurposed her usual trove of goodies for the other hunters, knowing that he would not require them. Not now, at least. His fingers trailed the driver’s side of Baby, leaving long drag marks through the grime. 

He wrenched the driver’s door open, metal squealing in protest, but allowing him entry all the same. He slid into the seat, running his hand over the dash and steering wheel, a lifetime of memories washing over him. Inhaling deeply, he pulled the keys from his pocket for the last time, briefly pausing before he stuck the key in the ignition and rolled it over. Baby rumbled to life like she had been waiting for him. Dean basked in the sound, let the vibrations of the car roll over him, the radio singing softly, and for a moment, he could almost pretend he was leaving on a typical hunt. Dean opened his eyes, pulling himself from his reverie, and slammed the door shut. 

Out of habit, he reached into the glove box, startled as various items from a previous life tumbled from it. Dean rooted around and pulled a creased and worn photo of himself, Sam, Mom, and Cas lounging around the table in the bunker. Beer bottles and cards scattered as they laughed at some long-forgotten joke. Dean traced the faces of his family, silently apologizing to each one for letting them down. He should have known that this whole scenario would happen and found a way to stop it before it got to this point. 

He sat in the silence, allowing the grief of failure and loss to finally overwhelm him. He tucked the photo in his flannel, scrubbing his face with his hand, before straightening his shoulders determinedly, lips pulled into a tight grimace. Dean adjusted the rearview mirror and caught the eye of humanity’s hail mary.

“You ready?” he asked gruffly, knowing that he wouldn’t receive a reply as he navigated Baby from the garage and the awaiting wasteland. 

Dean pulled Baby to a stop outside the gates of an unperturbed graveyard that sat in the middle of demolished buildings and broken slabs of concrete and glass. Bright skies and freshly cut grass greeted him, the brightness contrasting against the sepia sky surrounding the rest of the world. 

Dean eased Baby up the gravel drive, ignoring the pieces of rocks that pinged the undercarriage until he wound his way to a large, ostentatious white mausoleum. The white marble refracted the light from the sun, highlighting “For in God we Trust,” and Dean couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. 

He cut the engine and pulled the photo from his pocket one last time, committing those few moments of happiness to memory. He folded it again, slipping it back to his flannel before leaving the sanctuary that Baby held. He left the door partially open, leaving her to wait for his return. 

Shoulders hunched, he placed a palm on her hood, murmuring, “We’re at the end of the road, Baby.” 

He straightened, tapped his knuckle on her hood as a final goodbye to his home and refuge for the last thirty-odd years of his life. He turned, shielding his eyes from the sunlight, focusing on the two figures standing atop the hill. Slowly, he made his way to the path that ran alongside the mausoleum. 

Dean stopped a few feet out from the Chuck and Lucifer, shoving his hands in his pockets. He avoided looking at Sammy’s tawny eyes, knowing that he wasn’t there any longer, the result of their final deal with the devil. 

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean muttered, turning his gaze to the ground to avoid looking at God and Lucifer. 

Lucifer straightened his shoulders, raising his head regally as he regarded Dean with something akin to pity in his eyes. Chuck, however, grinned broadly and opened his arms wide as if greeting an old friend. 

“Ah! The Righteous Man decided to come after all! I was thinking that you were going to prolong the inevitable,” Chuck crowed, snapping his fingers and forcing Dean to meet his gaze. 

Dean gritted his teeth, straining against the invisible force that was keeping him locked with Chuck, “Let’s just finish this, Chuck.” 

“Well, that's no way to greet God,” Chuck mused, dropping his arms to his side petulantly. “But you’ve proven yourself a pain in the ass, so I’m unsurprised you’d fail to show me the respect I’m due. You know, Dean, I expected a little more from you after I stripped away everything you cared about.” 

Dean bit his lip to stop the bitter retort that bubbled inside him. Lucifer rolled Sam’s eyes and drawled, “Forgive us, Dad, but can we please get on with this? I have a little witch that I need to discuss some business with.” 

Chuck flapped a hand at Lucifer, who’s lips sealed shut at the admonishment. Lucifer’s eyes flashed red in annoyance, but he stepped back and allowed Chuck to continue. Grandly, Lucifer dropped his hand in a carry-on gesture, which Chuck accepted and turned his attention back to Dean. 

“Oh, Dean-o, what are we going to do with you?” Chuck drawled, moving forward to inspect Dean, finger grazing the open flannel of his shirt. He beckoned Lucifer to come toward the two of them, and Dean instinctively took a step away from Chuck. Chuck sent a blast of power toward Dean, freezing him in place. Dean strained against the bindings as Lucifer came forward, looking quizzically at Chuck. 

“Search him,” Chuck commanded, unsealing Lucifer’s lips at the same time. “Make sure he doesn’t have any other God-killer weapons or tricks that we are so used to seeing.”

“I don’t have anything,” Dean grit out, still straining against his bonds. 

“Never hurts to be overly cautious,” Chuck replied brightly.  
Lucifer sighed at Chuck, quickly patting Dean down. Lucifer leaned close to Dean's ear and muttered, “You do have a plan, right?”

Dean glared at Lucifer, who shrugged at him, “Hell’s no fun when the humans aren’t there to scurry about in fear.” 

Turning abruptly, Lucifer announced, “He’s clean.”

Chuck snapped his fingers, and Dean collapsed to the ground in a heap, sucking in a breath that he desperately needed. Dean spat in the general direction of Chuck, who took it in turn. 

“Onto business!" Chuck clapped again, shadows suddenly darkening around him, face solemn, "Dean Winchester, we are here to judge where your soul is to reside. Your options, Heaven or Hell.” 

“How?” Dean ground out, staggering to his feet, “Last I heard, Heaven’s powered down.” 

Chuck waved a hand, dismissively, “I’m back. I may not have the power to create universes, but I have enough to continue to play with my current world. “

Lucifer shifted his weight from foot to foot, fingers fidgeting against the sleeves of his white suit. He glanced at the sky above, before looking back at Dean. They stared at each other for a long moment, until Dean averted his eyes, no longer able to stare at Sam's face, as understanding bloomed across it. 

In the brief time that he and Lucifer had their staring contest, Chuck willed a screen and vintage reel and projector into existence. Three plush theater chairs appeared before the screen. Lucifer walked primly to the chair on the left, as Chuck hopped into the chair on the right, throwing his legs over the side. 

“I’ll stand here,” Dean commented, planting his feet firmly into the ground, determined to stay standing in his spot.  
The center chair that had been for Dean was suddenly behind him, hitting him in the back of the knees. Dean collapsed into the chair as his knees gave out. Straps clapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place. 

Ever the comedian, Chuck also included a scoreboard to keep track of the Heaven-Hell tally, even though Dean and Lucifer were well aware that Chuck could send Dean anywhere he pleased. This was merely a formality for Chuck's amusement. 

Chuck snapped his fingers, and Dean watched a younger version of himself flicker against the screen. He didn't need the recap of his life. He knew the innocents that he failed to save by heart; tasted the regret of no-win situations until it burned down to his stomach. Recalled the pleasures of sex and later, the contented buzz of love. Love that still lingered in him, making him reckless and selfish time and again. 

Heaven or Hell, Dean knew that he would do it all the same way again. He listened to Chuck and Lucifer bicker over some instances, slightly surprised that Lucifer was advocating for him to head up to the pearly gates.

Dean sat statue still, eyes closed to the sounds of his life flying by on high speed, cringing when Chuck would delightedly point out the deaths of one of his family members or other hunters. Lucifer was less enthused by the ordeal, occasionally sending a tally mark to himself, but for once, not making any snide commentary. 

As it quieted down, Dean cracked open an eye to see Lucifer standing and scowling at Chuck. The scoreboard brightly blinked "Winner!" in Lucifer's direction. Almost bored, he stepped back from the scoreboard and Dean, waiting for Chuck to end his theatrics. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Chuck gleefully announced, rubbing his hands slowly. “And what better way to continue to torture you than to make you relive your worst moments repeatedly?” 

The manacles around his wrists and ankles released, and Dean sprung up from the seat. Heart beating wildly, he tried to ignore the part of him that wanted to fight Chuck, wanted to go down swinging one last time. Instead, he forced himself to stand in place as Chuck advanced on him, and never in his life did he ever believe that God's hand would be the weapon he feared the most. 

Chuck’s cold hand landed on Dean’s forehead, and bright blue-white light emitted from Chuck’s hand. Heat slowly built beneath Dean’s skin. Dean couldn’t stop the cry of pain that escaped his lips as the blood boiled beneath the skin. He forced himself to remain standing despite the pain that clawed through him.

The light flickered around them, and Dean wavered between blacking out and remaining hazily awake. He screamed as muscles contracted and withered, moving like ugly bugs beneath his skin. Dean collapsed to his knees as the pain consumed him, his skin peeling from the withered muscle. His lungs contracted, the air becoming harder to come by, and Dean knew he was on the edge of death. 

With the last burst of air from his lungs, Dean gurgled for Death. Chuck's lips curled into a cruel smile, the smile of a vengeful old testament God. Dean closed his eyes as dark specks danced before him, grateful as everything faded to black as Death entered Dean’s failing body.

Death forced the God energy back at Chuck. Black and white power intertwined as it ricocheted off the mausoleum and gravestones. Lucifer lunged at Chuck, arm around his throat, keeping him in place as Billie continued to pulsate the energy around them. 

She pulled the death scythe from a rip in the Void. The scythes tipped point radiated grace and Darkness. Blue and white power cascaded over the blade, heat crackling in the space around it. Chuck’s eyes widened, hands clawing at Lucifer's arm, as the scythe absorbed the air and energy around the three of them. Lucifer strengthened his hold, planting his feet on the ground as he applied more pressure, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold onto Chuck. 

Chuck flung his head backward, hitting Lucifer in the face, using his momentum to throw Lucifer off balance. Chuck threw his hands at the twined energy manipulating it into a sphere. He thrust it at Death, who waved her hand, sending it flying to the side. Clods of dirt and grass exploded next to her, but she paid it no mind, pointing the scythe at Chuck as she walked forward. Darkness silhouetted Death, dark tendrils outstretching toward Chuck. The energy between them sucked in and evaporated, sending Chuck stumbling backward. 

Lucifer grasped Chuck's ankle, yanking him to the ground. Chuck thudded against Lucifer, distracting Chuck's focus long enough for Death to stand above them. Chuck twisted, throwing his hand out at Lucifer, sending a bolt of grace through him. Lucifer shuddered, God's grace running through him like flames. He rolled away from them, screeching as he clawed at his eyes, attempting to free the burning that consumed him from the inside. Pure white light burst through parts of his skin and mouth. Death did not spare Lucifer a glance, instead bringing the scythe to Chuck's neck. 

Chuck's grace dribbled onto the point of the scythe, sizzling as it met the crackling energy and Darkness around it.

“You can’t kill me,” Chuck gasped, “It’s against the rules.” 

Death twisted Dean’s mouth to a smile, “Everything dies, even God.”

She retreated, allowing Dean to return to his body. Instinctively, he raised the scythe, the energy charring his remaining flesh, and swung it down. It pierced Chuck’s throat and curved to his heart. Everything stood still for several seconds, Chuck's mouth gaping wide in surprise. Cracking white energy burst from Chuck and through Dean, sending a shockwave rippling throughout the world. 

Trees sprouted from the ground, thick and full of green leaves, as fine green grass sprouted between the rubble. The earth rose, absorbing cement and metal buildings' broken remains, leaving instead brightly colored flowers and grass in its wake. 

Death, back in her original form, clasped Chuck’s hand, assisting his power to spread throughout the world, sending demons, monsters, and humans alike back to where they belonged as the world righted itself. As she did so, she caged the remnants of God's soul deep into the Void, leaving nothing for angels or demon alike to find and use for another apocalypse. 

Dean’s body hung suspended in the air for a moment before it began to fall. Death caught him, easing his limp body to the ground. She crouched next to him, gently taking his scorched hands and clasping them on his stomach. She placed two obols in place of his eyes, resting her fingertips on his cheeks, before leaning over to leave a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

A tattered and singed photo caught her attention. She stared at it for a moment, tracing a finger over the smiling faces of hunters that the world would never know.

“Time to rest, Dean Winchester,” Death breathed, still manipulating the energy around her to part the ground. Tree roots and vines stretched from the yawning earth. They wrapped around Dean, pulling his body below as the dirt and grass rolled over him.

She watched the earth neatly stitch itself up, seamless, and in its place, sprouted a small sapling, soft green leaves sprouting on thin branches. She watched the graveyard for a few more minutes, reveling in the hum of peace that she felt thrumming through the world. 

Death turned on her heel and made her way down the gravel path, stopping in front of Baby. She traced her hand over the marks made by Dean, pausing before she pulled the door open and slid into the driver's seat. 

She tucked the photo between the windshield and the dash as Baby rumbled to life. Her engine echoed in the relative silence of the new world around them. Death nosed Baby down the gravel pathway, window rolled down, arm hanging from the window. 

In the end, the apocalypse happened as it always was supposed to. Death riding into the sunset of a new world, heedless of the heroes and villains she had left in her wake.


End file.
